


East of Sunrise

by rosekay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Tales, Het and Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosekay/pseuds/rosekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A take on an Andersen classic--Sam only wants to know their warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	East of Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ in 2006.

**

Far, far from our sight and right behind our own world, there is another, one of those have passed and who are going, of shadow and spirit and moonlight.

We must not imagine that there is nothing there but silence and emptiness – the darkness here is so heady, and so delicate, that we cannot possibly fathom its depths or its heights, for it rests just between this world and the next.

We two are closer than the morning dew that clings before the sunrise, but we can never touch - except when the night falls or the day breaks, the shadows become indistinct to our eyes, and the light grows hazy. Only then the may we reach across the void.

In this world dwell the Shadow King and his subjects, some fierce and unlovely, but they guard us from the darkness. He lives in a palace where the walls are beautifully white and smooth, molded and shaped from the bones of those past.

That wind that whistles through those halls is sickly and sweet, humming threnodies in the ears of those who pass. The scent of salt and sage always lingers in the air, and the fires all burn the more brightly because they are surrounded by darkness.

The Shadow King was a gruff, old soldier, his dark hair threaded with silver. He had a wonderful voice that rumbled low and rich from his throat.

He was often weary from ruling his kingdom, and sometimes too set and too arrogant in his ways, but he was deserving of praise because he had bred two very beautiful sons.

The elder had bright eyes that were his greatest beauty and a quick, flashing grin. He was strong and quick and thrived in the lightness of his descent, the sweet rush of his home - for their world is not so safe as our own, and their bodies not so solid. They are not bound by flesh and blood, but rather are the darkness and the air, standing between us and the greater emptiness.

The younger grew to be even taller and stronger than his brother, but he was quicker with his words than his smiles, and told tales that delighted all those around. He always dreamt of the glimpse of light he caught when the day broke or the night fell, of the world beyond his own, golden and real.

He would always ask his father, the Shadow King, "What is out there? What shines so brightly? Please, please tell me everything."

And his father would gravely reply that the other world was brighter, but heavier than theirs.

"Our voices are too quiet and our skin is too thin for their brashness," he would say.

"We would burn if we lived among them, and they would soon turn to dust among us. They do not know of the greater darkness that we always watch, and they must never know. That is for us alone."

He told his younger son of the bright star that shone in the sky for them (for the shadow kingdom had the softer glow of the moon, never any stars), and how even their whiteness gleamed, warmer than the white of the shadow kingdom that was moon and bone.

He told him about schools and books and the scent of the wind, of the warmth of their food and the softness of their hair.

And the younger son was struck by such a dream.

"When can I see the other world?" he asked. "When?"

"When you have reached your eighteenth year," his father answered, "and when the day is breaking or the night falling, you may enter their world very briefly, and see all of these things I have described."

The next year, the elder was able to do this, having reached his age. The younger son brooded, anxious and bursting with anticipation, knowing that he had four years left to wait.

When his brother returned, the younger son embraced him with a familiar kiss.

"What did you see? What did you do?"

The elder son shrugged and smiled at his little brother.

"They are so much heavier and warmer than we are, almost more real. I met the most beautiful girl with the smoothest duskiest skin and blackest hair - her mouth was almost as quick as yours. She tasted like light and earth all in one, and she was so warm!"

But the younger son wanted to hear of the books and winds and all the wondrous things their father had seen.

"Books," laughed his brother. "Books? Why would you look at books? Why, the wind I can tell you about. It is strong and beautiful and breathes as you move with it, no sweet and sickly tune to it like ours. There is nothing better than running through it. And the sunlight - it is the brightest warmth that you will ever know."

He sweetly kissed his brother then and embraced him, their skin brushing light and delicate quick as it always did.

"But be careful, little brother, for the moment you are too late to return, and the day really breaks or the night really falls, then it will burn you right up."

And he smiled, something brittle and unlike him in the gesture.

So the younger son waited.

Knowing his brother yearned to see all these treasures, the older son dutifully reported the wonderful sights that he saw.

The next year he told his little brother about the deep green of the forests, and trees that rose to magnificent heights.

"And still growing, not just dead and stately like our own trees, and when you break off one of the littler branches, you can see the green that it holds. Greener than poison, greener than my eyes!"

The younger son stared in wonder, for his brother’s eyes were very beautiful and very green.

The next year he told his little brother about the seas that rushed against the land.

"Waters, greater and fiercer than our still and silent lakes, rushing and tangling and taking away the sands of the land when they withdraw."

His brother leaned close, eyes wide. "The waters stretch for miles and miles out, until sea and sky are one and your eyes are almost blind from seeing."

The last year before the younger son could see all these things for himself, his brother brought him a gift. A little bird from the other world that chirped and shrilled and hopped about gaily.

The younger son laughed out loud in delight, and his brother smiled at him warmly as he played with the bird. But soon its beautiful feathers lost their gloss, and its eyes grew gray and dull – it crumbled into dust right in his hands.

Stricken, his older brother embraced him tightly, his eyes shining with silver tears that fell cold upon the younger son’s cheeks.

"I forgot, little brother, I forgot. I’m sorry, their flesh isn't meant to live long in our world."

**

At length, since he was free to go whenever he pleased, the older son grew indifferent to the delights of the other world.

"It is much better here," he told his brother, "where the darkness is light and the moon shines brightly enough for anything."

But sometimes, he would cross the void, and let his beautiful eyes speak for him, for they were exquisite and green and lovelier than anything the other world could produce.

A human might follow their beauty, almost back into the shadow, but he always withdrew before this happened, because shadow and flesh cannot live as one, and only dust and echoes would reach his father’s bone white palace.

Finally, the Shadow King called his younger son to him.

"It is your eighteenth year and you are free to see the other world, but remember, be careful."

And he sprinkled him with the water holy to their world and hung around his neck a silver cross.

"But it hurts and the cross is heavy," the younger son said.

"It is a sign of your status," the king replied, "wear them proudly."

So he went, floating on his shadow body, as soon as the sky grew gray and the first streaks of pink appeared. He gazed in on the world of flesh, and felt the flowing wind stir his hair. The sun was warm on his cheeks, and he nearly wept from the joy of it.

He found a whole palace of books, and glided among them with wonder. And there he spied the most beautiful girl, all alone, since the others were asleep, with the loveliest golden hair and the sharpest grace. He followed her outside from afar, wondering at how the sun struck gleaming sparks on her smile and lit her bright hair in a warm glow.

Before this, he had known only the beauty of smoothest bone and the utter pureness of shadow, the still and silent green of his brother's eyes, the beauty of the silver moonlight on his brother's skin, and dark earth as it pillowed his brother’s flank.

But this, this was _warmth_ and life, something real and solid for him to hold. Entranced, he stayed with her until it was almost too late, and his skin began to prickle painfully from the rising sun.

When he returned to the world of shadows, the glare of the sun was still in his eyes, and everything that had been beautiful before seemed dull and transparent.

His brother, sensing his gloom, kissed him again and again, and held him. They tangled as they always had, pale bodies together in the moonlight, gasps and breaths sent out into the silvery air, but the younger brother could think only of the beautiful girl and the sunlight in her hair.

At every opportunity, the younger brother returned to the fold between worlds, and watched the beautiful girl. One day, a creature from his own world followed him, a child of the greater darkness, who swept the girl up in its folds. She swooned, because real flesh cannot live long with shadow.

The younger son rushed to her side, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height, his voice ringing out princely and true - and the creature drew back into the shadows. He smoothed the golden hair and kissed the high, smooth forehead, but the girl would not wake.

At last, the starlight of the other world awoke the prickling pain in his form again, and he was forced to withdraw.

He watched until a young man discovered the girl laying there, her golden hair spread across the ground and her eyes closed. She woke when the young man revived her, touching her as the shadow prince could not, and there was that familiar warmth in her eyes, but not for him, because she did not know that it was he who had saved her.

When he withdrew to his own world, the sweet, cool kisses of his brother and the silence of the moonlight did not lessen that burning within his heart. Even when he could not see her, the image of the girl and her golden beauty was burnt into his mind’s eye.

"What’s wrong, what ails you so?" his brother would ask, one hand curled around the nape of his neck.

But the touch did not warm him, and he did not dare tell his brother of the girl, for fear the Shadow King would hear of it and be angered.

"The people of the other world," he drew up the courage to ask his father later, "how do they walk and move when their bodies are so heavy?"

"They are made of warmth and flesh," replied the king, "and they live quickly, dying long before we do. But they have glowing souls that rise above both our worlds when they die, so they may look down at us all just as we do them.

"What will happen to us?" the younger son asked. "What will happen when _we_ die?"

"We do not die," the king replied. "We touch our fresh, dark earth and listen to what the bones tell us. We shift between worlds more quickly than they can imagine. And sometimes, when we are too grieved or too tired to continue, we turn to the dust that you see everywhere."

"And then, will our souls rise, as theirs do?"

"No," said the king. "We are already souls, but we are too quick and too empty to rise. It is much better down here. The moonlight and shadow make us lighter than they will ever be, and we can live for many years after they die. When we are done, then we can find true rest."

"But I want to see," said the younger son, "I want to see the world above us. I would give my whole life here for just one day as a creature of flesh, so I too could rise."

The shadow king laughed then, deep and low, and ran a hand through his younger son’s hair.

"Why," he asked, "would you want something so silly? You are a prince in this kingdom, with a prince’s duties. The only way for you to gain such a soul, is to find someone there who loves you so deeply that they give you their heart, and it is yours alone. Then their soul will become yours and you will both rise."

The king looked very weary as he looked closely at his son.

"But they will never understand us, so you must turn your head back to your own world. Go to your brother."

So the younger son went, his cool skin still remembering the heat of the sun, and his silent heart aching for the voice of the girl.

Finally, he turned away from the glow of the other world, and went to the bridge between the world of shadows and the greater darkness, for there lived a great demon, a sorcerer who could work many magics.

The path grew darker as he went, no longer the elegant silence and moonlit beauty of his own world, but something sadder and bloodier. The whistling of the wind through the little bone houses was no longer a sweet threnody, but a ravaged howl.

The shadows waving along the path seemed alive, with long claws that arched in the gloom and fierce jaws that would swallow anyone whole. The younger son almost turned back, frozen with fright, but he thought of golden hair and the hope for a soul, and asked silently for courage.

He shivered and gathered his clothes about him, so they would not be caught by the creatures that lingered along the path, all the torn souls that the demon had collected and would not let go.

At last he came to a curious, frightening little house, made of the wood of dead flesh and splintered bones. The demon was inside, tended to by the shadow creatures outside. His eyes gleamed a burnished yellow, like the cold, precious metals deep, deep beneath the earth.

"I know what you want, little prince. It is a very silly thing, but you shall have it if you must. You want flesh and skin like those beings of the other world, so that you may walk among them all the time and that golden-haired girl will fall in love with you."

He laughed. "You want an immortal soul, boy."

The demon leaned close.

"And you shall have it if you want, for I can prepare a draught for you, so that your spirit becomes flesh and the sun can no longer burn you. But think, little prince, think, if you take this draught you can never return to the world of shadows. You would turn to dust.

You can never return to that sweet brother of yours or your loving father and his bone-white palace. You can never see this world again. And if you do not win this girl’s love, if she does not give her heart to you and you alone, then when the day breaks over her marriage to another, you will turn to dust and be no more."

"I will do it," said the younger son, trembling a bit.

"But I will also ask a price, little prince, for only my own blood will lend power to this draught. You have the quickest, most delightful tongue of all those around you. You can convince anyone of anything. I would take your voice."

He smiled, slow and yellowed. "Isn't that fair?"

"But what then is left to me?" asked the younger son, afraid now. "How will I charm her?"

"You have your tall and lovely form, all the better to be seen under the light of their bright star, and your gentle eyes and your strength."

The younger son swallowed hard, shadows at his jaw.

"Will you do it?" asked the demon.

"I will," replied the prince, lifting his head up high.

So the demon cut off his tongue, leaving him dumb and never able to speak again. He pricked his own breast so that the black blood fell into the draught and added other, terrible things. With each stir, a wailing arose from the draught, but the little prince could no longer cry out, now that he had no voice.

At last, the terrible draught became clear like water. The demon poured it into a vial and gave it to the younger son.

"Scatter this on the shadows on the path, and they will let you through. Drink it when you have entered their world, and your body will become flesh and you will be one of them. I warn you though, every time you move, it will feel as if a fire is burning your flesh."

The younger son took the vial and set off, but he had no need of it, since the shadow creatures scattered in terror from the glittering brightness of it.

**

When he returned to the bone palace, all was silent, everyone asleep. He went to his brother’s chambers, and kissed the sweet curve of those familiar lips one last time and laid his head on his brother's breast, too afraid to weep. He looked in upon his sleeping father and at all of the wonders of his own world, and closed his eyes as a farewell, for he could no longer speak it.

At last, he entered the longed-for world and drank the draught. It was as if a fire had swept through his body and he burned and burned until he thought no more.

When he awoke, it was to sunlight in his eyes and the face of the girl that he loved. He blushed immediately, for though the light did not consume him and he could feel the new flesh of his form, he had no clothes.

She was kind though, and giving, and simply led him inside, put on him fine clothes. Her friends gathered about, wondering at the tall and handsome young man who had joined them. When he moved among, smiling and wordless, his skin crawled with the hot pain of flames. He endured it, though, for her.

His grace and height enchanted all of them, and there was a sweetness in his face and eyes that touched the girl like no one’s mere voice ever had.

"I’m going away to travel," she told him. "I want you to come."

So gladly he followed the girl to the trees and mountains of which his brother had spoken. He climbed every hill, crossed every brook, though his skin burned and burned. He forgot it when she smiled at him, and he followed her too to the sea, stretching for miles and miles, just as his brother had said, until water and sky were one and it was blinding to see.

"My parents want me to marry," she told him one day, "but I am already in love. There was a boy who rescued me one day from a terrible shadow, but I have never found him again, and I fear I never will."

It was I who saved you, he wanted to say, but could not. I sent the shadow away and kissed your brow and waited for you.

His eyes filled with tears at the frustration as his body burned in the midday heat.

She gently drew away his tears with one hand, brow wrinkled.

"Why are you sad, my friend, why do you cry?"

And he could not tell her.

At length, they returned to the palace of books where he first saw her and all of her friends.

"Someone is here," they told her, "as handsome and lovely as the sun itself. You will love him."

But the girl shook her head.

"There is only one for me," she said, "and he has vanished."

The younger son looked at her with expressive eyes and a sweet smile. I love you, he seemed to say.

"Yes," she murmured, reaching up and up to stroke his hair, "you remind me of the boy, and I would much rather have you. You are not afraid of the darkness and you have always been by my side."

**

But soon she came to him, joy lighting her lovely eyes, golden hair rolling across her shoulders in the sunlight.

She embraced him warmly.

"I have found him, my friend, I have found him! The boy who came, it was he who saved me. He came here to find me."

He cried again, but she thought they were tears of joy for her, and simply embraced him again. When the boy finally came, the younger son gazed upon his face, to see if he was truly handsome, and he was. Tall and strong like his older brother, with a beautiful face and eyes shining with sincerity.

"Be happy for me," the girl said that night, stroking his hair. "I have found my world’s only love."

He turned his face away, wanting only to tell her, tell her that it was him and not the other boy, but he could only lie in her embrace.

They dressed him in something tall and sleek for the wedding ceremony, and all were enchanted by his beauty, but even greater than the pain of his burning flesh was the pain in his heart. The girl he loved, for whom he had given up his loving brother, his father, his world, had given her heart to another, and he would turn to dust before sunrise.

She touched his face, his hair, expression puzzled, unknowing.

He smiled for her a last time, knowing that come morning, he would be gone, and the gesture came more beautifully than ever for all its sadness.

**

In the world of shadows, the older son learned what had happened to his little brother and closed his eyes, face folding. His father withdrew into the bone palace, stony and silent, and even the moonlight seemed to glow less brightly.

The older son went along the same path to the demon’s house, running quickly so the shadow creatures would not catch him. When he entered, the demon smiled, mouth wide.

"Are you here to save your brother?"

"I am," replied the older son, shaken.

"That girl has married another, and at sunrise, your brother will become nothing. All this pain for nothing."

The demon smiled again. The older son fell to his knees.

"What can you do?"

"I can forge a weapon, a special one. Tell him if he shoots this girl in the heart, he will be spirit and shadow once more, and he can return to this world."

"Make it," the brother hissed, his voice soft like glass. "Make the weapon!"

"Ah," said the demon, drawing closer, "but what will you give me in return?"

He drew his hands to the older son’s lovely face and turned it up.

"Anything," the older son whispered, "I’ll give you anything."

The demon stared into his face for a long time, then released him.

"Your eyes, I will have your eyes."

"My eyes," said the son, startled, "then how I will find him?"

"I will make sure that you can. You are as handsome as your brother, but those sweet, green eyes are your greatest beauty, are they not? They are quick and lovely and see everything. I would have them for myself."

"I will do it," said the brother.

So the demon cut out his eyes, and the blood ran dark on his cheeks. Gently, the demon tied a cloth about his face, hiding his injury and pressed the weapon into his shaking hands. He then kissed the older son, breathing sight and spirit into him.

"Go now, you will be able to find your brother."

And so the older son went.

**

A world away, his brother watched the beautiful girl and her new husband, easy in their slumber, and saw red streaking the sky. The pain was almost unbearable in his skin, and it seemed terribly unfair that it should have come to this.

"Little brother?"

He turned to see his brother standing before him, steady on his feet, but hands trembling. He would have cried out at the dark blood streaking the familiar cheeks under the blindfold, but could only gasp empty air. He rushed to the shadowy form.

They could not touch, for they were on different sides of the fold.

"What has happened?" he whispered, hands close to his brother’s bloody face. "What have you done?"

His brother handed him the weapon and told him about what had to be done.

"You must," he asked quietly, "please."

And he would have cried too, but there was only blood in his eyes now.

The younger son slowly drew the weapon in his hands, so that it was level with the sleeping girl’s heart. She looked very beautiful and untroubled, resting there. He was ready to take her life, when she whispered the name of the boy laying next to her.

I cannot, he thought wretchedly, I cannot, and hurled the weapon away.

It turned to silver and blood as it hit the floor in the world of flesh. The girl did not stir.

He drew closer to his brother, crossing the void between worlds, until he stood in shadow, and the burning eased in his skin. But there was a cold that grew from his very gut and he knew he did not have much time.

His brother reached blindly for him, and the younger son caught those beloved hands in his own. He kissed the blindfold above each vanished eye, and each stained cheek until his lips too were red with his brother’s blood. Finally he sweetly kissed the upturned curve of the soft, familiar lips, just as he had a thousand times before.

Now he lingered though, and found that there was warmth here too in this old taste.

His eyes widened, and tears slipped out to wash the blood from his brother’s cheeks. When the cold surged again and he turned to dust, he took with him the memory of the kiss.

**

 

~the end~


End file.
